A NOTE TO OUR GUESTS

If you know us, God bless you. You’re here. We did it.

Between the two of us, I was always the more hopeful one—the one who believed I might someday get to say those words out loud. Andy, on the other hand, maintained that this day would never come. “When I acquired my kilt,” he said, “that’s when it really hit me that this was actually happening.”

We used to joke about it constantly. If we ever did get married, it would be at the JVC Event Center, officiated by a mini Elvis, velvet curtains and buffet tacos included—a joke big enough, we thought, that fate would never dare call our bluff. “I played along,” he said. “Possibly rolled my eyes too.”

And yet—here we are.

People often ask what our relationship is really like behind the scenes. “How truly in love we are,” he says.

Smartass.

For the man who once said “never,” standing here now feels, in his words, “absolutely fantastic.”

So we wanted to share our story with you. Not because we needed to prove anything… but because this felt worth remembering.

Cheers to you. Cheers to us. Now let’s party.

THE ONES WHO SAID THEY’D NEVER MARRY

Before Andy, I had a mental list of all the reasons to say no. No to risk. No to vulnerability. No to the possibility of heartbreak. I wasn’t cynical—I was careful. There’s a difference.

Andy had his own version of “never.” “I was never gonna get married,” he said. “I just didn’t see it in the cards.” It wasn’t insecurity. It was a decision he’d already made peace with.

Before we met, his life was simple. Comfortable. Social. “Just hanging out with people I knew. Having cocktails. Having a good time.” No complications. No expectations. Just… easy.

Online dating, however, had tested his patience. “There were some near misses. A lot of freakin’ crazies.” That tracks. Honestly, I’m surprised either of us made it out of that era intact.

So when he stumbled across my profile, his takeaway was exactly what you’d expect. “You were going to wax poetic about something while wearing a bustier,” he said. “Probably string theory.”

I wish I could say that’s inaccurate.

“That’s what made me swipe.”

Of course it did.

And unlike most first exchanges, we didn’t let it fizzle. “I thought it might go somewhere,” he said.

So we did something bold. We made a weekend out of it.

No pressure. No expectations.

Just two people who had both said “never”… deciding, for once, not to.

LOVE IN THE TIME OF COVID

Our conversations started simply—messages, then the Saturday morning phone call. “She sounded like a good Southern girl,” he said. That was his first impression, which still makes me laugh a little.

He didn’t overthink it. “I already had pictures. I wasn’t trying to put expectations on it. Just—please don’t be crazy.”

The bar, again, was low.

Leading up to that first phone call, there wasn’t hesitation—just curiosity. “Definitely curious.” That’s how it started. Not fireworks. Not over analysis. Just interest.

Something clicked early on. “She wanted to take shots of tequila. Not a lot of ladies throw back tequila.” Apparently, that sealed my fate.

We laughed easily. And that mattered more than anything else. “She had a good personality. She enjoyed laughing.” That’s the kind of compliment that sticks—not because it’s flashy, but because it’s real.

When it came time to choose a first date, the beach was out. It was COVID times so everything was shut down. “The lake was way closer.” Practical. Efficient. Very Andy.

We shook hands in my foyer on Saturday afternoon, and just like that, we were off.

No big expectations.

Just a willingness to see what might happen.

24 HOURS IN THE BOONIES (Cue the banjos)

Andy won’t tell you he was nervous, but he was. “I wasn’t shaking in my shoes,” he said. “But I’d never met you.” Which, in Andy language, is basically a full admission.

When he walked into my house, there was a visible moment of relief. “I was super relieved it wasn’t a pigsty.” The bar was apparently somewhere in the basement.

The drive to Wedowee was easy. “Conversation was good.” And it was. No awkward pauses. No trying too hard. Just… easy.

At the lake house, it wasn’t the scenery that stood out—it was the people. “The conversation,” he said. “Nobody had seen each other in forever.” It felt like walking into something already in motion, not something we had to manufacture.

When Inge realized it was our first date, the look on her face became unforgettable. Shock, maybe. “Andy! What were you thinking?” Because who does that? Who takes someone they just met to a lake house with your girl bestie’s parents?

Apparently, we do.

The kiss under the stars felt like something—one of those moments you don’t fully process until later. “It was super romantic,” he said, before immediately balancing that with, “I was thinking… yeah, we’re probably about to wind up getting naked.”

And there it is.

That’s the balance we’ve always had—heart and humor, sincerity and sarcasm, all in the same breath.

The next morning didn’t come with hesitation or second-guessing. Just a quiet knowing.

“Yes,” he said.

He wanted to see me again.

So did I.

THE ORDINARY DAYS THAT MADE US EXTRAORDINARY

It’s weird to me, looking back now, how easy it all was.

After our second date nearly a month later, we just fell into a rhythm—not the kind you question or analyze, but the kind that quietly builds itself while you’re busy living. There wasn’t a moment where everything changed. No grand declaration. No shift you could point to and say, there it is.

Just time. Consistency. Ease.

Even Andy couldn’t pinpoint it. “Maybe when we dressed up like peanut butter and jelly for Halloween,” he said. “I had never matched a costume with anyone.”

That feels right.

Because it wasn’t built on milestones. It was built on Fridays in the kitchen, music bouncing from one phone to the other, cocktails in hand, dancing while dinner cooked. It was built on the in-between—the parts nobody posts about but everyone remembers.

“Cooking together,” he said.

Of course.

Meeting Annelise wasn’t some big orchestrated moment. It was COVID. Nothing about that time was normal. We saw Metallica on the big screen at the Starlight Drive-In. “It was really good. And weird at the same time.” Which, honestly, describes more than just that moment.

What surprised him most was how natural it all felt. “How easy it was.” No forcing it. No fitting a square peg into a round hole. He just… fit.

And that’s the part no one really talks about. When it’s right, it doesn’t feel like work. It feels like relief.

At some point, without announcement, this became real life. “When we decided to move in together—that’s when it was solid.” Even then, it didn’t feel heavy. “Exciting and inevitable.”

And that might be the best way to describe us.

Not dramatic.

Not complicated.

Just… right.

THE POWER OF YES

Before Andy, my life was built on survival. Every decision carried weight. Every risk was calculated. When you’re a single mom, you don’t get the luxury of falling apart—you show up, whether you feel like it or not.

Andy saw that early. “When I met Annelise—that’s when I realized.” But it didn’t change how he showed up. If anything, it clarified it. “If you’re my lady, I’m going to make sure you’re taken care of.”

That was new for me. Not the words—I’d heard words before. The consistency. The follow-through. The quiet way he just… did what he said he would do.

There was a moment on my back deck in Lilburn when everything cracked open—the realization that he would never know my parents, and they would never know him. Grief has a way of showing up like that. No warning. No permission.

I broke.

And he stayed.

“The night you broke down about your parents,” he said. “I think that was it.”

That’s where it shifted for me. Not into something heavier—but into something steadier.

This wasn’t a love that asked for anything. It didn’t compete. It didn’t keep score. It didn’t make me question myself or brace for impact.

It just… existed.

Andy doesn’t complicate it. “All of it,” he said. “All the madness.”

And he’s right.

There’s no grand philosophy here. No rules. No effort to “get it right.”

We just do love.

And somehow, that’s been more than enough.

THE ENGAGEMENT

It was just another Saturday night—music, cocktails, the quiet comfort of a life we’d already built together. Which is probably why I didn’t see it coming.

Andy did.

“We were having a conversation,” he said. “Something about doubts.” And apparently, a little outside pressure didn’t hurt. “When are you going to give Mom the ring?”

Nothing like a teenager keeping things on schedule.

When he pulled that little box out of his pocket, nothing felt real. Not in a dramatic, cinematic way—just in that quiet, disorienting way where your brain takes a second to catch up to what’s happening.

I didn’t know what else to say, “Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.”

Andy’s immediate thought—“She’s about to lose it.”

Accurate.

I made him ask more than once. Not because I didn’t hear him, but because I needed to believe it.

Watching it unfold was simple for him. “I was happy. And I knew I’d made her happy.”

That’s Andy.

No performance. No overthinking. Just certainty.

“This is mine.”

And just like that, forever didn’t feel like a risk anymore.

It felt like a decision.

THE WEDDING DAY

Some girls dream of this day.

I didn’t.

And Andy definitely didn’t.

We joked about it for years—mini Elvis, velvet curtains, buffet tacos. A joke big enough that it would never actually happen.

And yet—here we are.

This day isn’t about perfection. It’s not about tradition. It’s not about doing it “right.”

It’s just a moment.

A really good one.

Andy woke up this morning with his usual clarity. “I locked her down. Relief. Peace.”

That’s the thing about us.

Life won’t change much after today—we were already living it. Already building something that didn’t need a label to make it real.

We didn’t fight our way here. We didn’t struggle to make it work.

We just… fit.

The right kind of love doesn’t feel heavy. It doesn’t ask you to shrink or prove or hold your breath.

It lets you exhale.

Andy didn’t give me anything I didn’t already have.

He just met me in it.

So no—no mini Elvis.

Just us.

And a life that turned into something better than either of us planned… without ever really trying to.